Wednesday, January 2, 2013

4th Annual No-Kiss Blogfest!

This year I'm a little late to posting, mostly because I'm not sure how I feel about this scene, it needs a lot of work, but for right now I think it will do. Please forgive whatever grammar mistakes I've most definitely made, I'm still trying to hone my skills in that area.

--

Caleb stumbled into their room; with
ever falter in his step his grip around Teagan tightened. She was trembling in
his arms, her knuckles clenched white against the fabric of his shirt; her hand
clasped so tight he could almost feel the pulse in her fist against his chest. Her
breathing and the sloshing from the whiskey bottle she had in her free hand
were almost in perfect harmony with his hurried heavy steps.

“Caleb,” she hiccupped; her voice soft
against the cotton of his button down, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He lowered her onto the
bed, dislodging the bottle from her hand. She pulled her legs up against her
chest, burying her face into the pillows. Caleb stepped away from her, rubbing
his slowly swelling jaw, and took a sip directly out of the bottle.

“Nothing is okay,” she grunted, sitting
up. The aftertaste of cheap vodka was still hot on her tongue, she licked her
lips.

“He didn’t hit me that hard,” another swig.
As the sweet liquid dripped down his throat its slow cool burn began to numb
the throbbing which had started to blossom along his jaw line.

“You didn’t have to do that you know. I
could have handled myself.” Her voice was harsh; she shoved herself off the bed
and started walking towards the bathroom.

“Excuse me? Just a second ago you were
apologizing. I just carried you all the way here. The least you could do was
say thank you.”

“I wasn’t apologizing for that. And I could
have made it by myself.” The water started running, but the door was wide open.
He walked towards it

“Sure, you could have.”

“I mean it!”

“Then what the hell were you—” he
stopped dead, whiskey bottle half pressed to his lips. Teagan’s long sleeve
shirt was abandoned on the floor right next to the sink; leaving her clad in
nothing but her navy lace bra and black skirt. Her back was to him, her bare shoulder blades covered
with bruises, spider webs of broken blood cells extending down her spine.

Teagan turned towards him. The canvas of
her skin displayed a color spectrum ranging from black to jaundice yellow. Anger
flashed through him, his fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle
clenching and unclenching as he tried to calm himself. Someone had hit her,
someone had hurt her, and he wanted to hurt them.

“Teagan,” he lowered the bottle, taking
a step towards her, shaking with anger.

“They’re nothing. Don’t look at them.” She
stepped towards him, reaching out for the bottle. He let it go and she pressed
it to her lips, meeting his eyes for only a second.

“No questions, remember?” she took
another sip and closed her eyes.

He placed his hands on her bare
shoulders, running his fingers along the green and yellow bruises that painted
her.

“Teagan, who—”

“Don’t look at them.” She shrugged him
off taking a step back into the bathroom, pressing the bottle back into his
hand, her curls falling in front of her speckled eyes.

“Teagan,” his voice caught.

“I don’t want your pity okay!” she
snapped, folding her arms against her chest, doing so exposed her ribs. They
were a deep purple with tiny splotches of deep red peppering the dark hues
which ran the length of her torso, for a second he thought he could make out
the imprint of a boot in one of the dark swirled designs.

“Teagan—” he took a step towards her,
hand outstretched.

“I said don’t look at them! I know they’re
hideous okay? You don’t have to look.” She was trembling again, and he could
just see the tears starting to brim in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered stepping
closer to her. She hiccupped, using the back of her hand to wipe her eyes.

“Teagan,” he was inches from her now,
his fingers just barely brushing the tinted skin of her shoulder blade.

“Stop saying my name!” she spun round,
and found herself just a breath away from him. He reached out, pulling her into
his arms careful not to squeeze her bruises too tight.

“Teagan,” he whispered, burying his face
into her bright red hair. “I’m so sorry.” She started to cry, trembling as he
clutched her closer.

“You’re beautiful you know that? They aren’t
who you are, they aren’t…you didn’t deserve this. I promise you, I…” he was at
a loss for words.

“Please,” she pulled away from him to
look up into his eyes, “stop apologizing.”

“You’re just…you didn’t deserve this.” She
went to pull away and he tugged her closer, “I want you to know, you’re still…you’re
beautiful.”

“Stop lying to me.” He reached out for
her chin and tilted her head up towards him. He started to lean in; she could
smell the sweet whiskey on his breath, as he cradled her in his arms.

Her heart began to pound, the alcohol
making her dizzy. She wanted him to crash his whiskey tinted lips against hers,
to wrap herself around him and let him kiss her until she couldn’t even
remember her own name. But she didn’t want it out of pity.

He didn’t move, just staring at her,
eyes glued to the marks dancing across her flesh.

“I said get the fuck out!” She pressed
her hands to his chest, and shoved him out the door. He stumbled into the
bedroom and she slammed the door in his face.

---

So here is my fourth entry! I cannot believe I've been a part of this thing for four years now, it is absolutely fantastic. I hope everyone has a wonderful day filled with absolutely no kissing whatsoever! I'm off to read what everyone else had to share.

About me

I'm 20 trying to figure out life, college, oh and the publishing world. But then again most of the people on the blogshpere are.
I have two kittens, my McAllister and Finnegan, the cutest brothers in the world. Save for the Weasley Twins, because lets face it Fred and George are amazing beyond words.
Other than that all you need to know about me is that I need to write, it's my oxygen without it suffocation is eminent.